Tap tap.

Ugh. Charden rolled over on his side, facing the wall. He hurt.

Tap tap.

He drew the pillow over his head, shutting out the noise. Closing his eyes once again, he drifted back off into unconsciousness.

--

Must still be asleep. Eve frowned at the door, and thin tendrils of her hair crept yp, wrapping themselved about the doorknob. The soup wasn't very heavy, but Eve didn't want to risk spilling it, so she hurried to get it into the room as fast as possible.

Sure enough, her houseguest was still down. Setting the tray down on the bedside table with a soft 'clatterthunk,' Eve looked the man over before retiring in the chair that Train had sat in only a few hours earlier. grabbing the underside, she turned it to face the bed, then drew out a small paperback book from her pocket. As she opened the novel, the spine cracked pleasantly, and the girl read, waiting for Charden to awaken.

The soup's thick aroma permeated through the small room, heavy beef broth washing over the less pungent vegetables. Steam rose in curls over the muddy-looking stew, but the heat would retain for quite a while longer. Eve's head was bent, her crimson eyes focusing on the small book in her lap. The tiny girl was silent. In fact, the entire room was silent, save for the soft breathing of the blonde male and the occasional crisp turn of her book's pages.

The house was comfortably warm --Train kept it that way when he was home, ignoring the heavy lamentations of Sven over the heating bill -- and her chair wasn't too uncomfortable. It wasn't long until the pages turned less and less frequently, finally stopping, as Eve fell asleep. The book lay in her hands, still open, sheet of blonde hair curtaining it from view, Eve's chin barely brushing the front of her black dress.

Tink.

Tinkscrape tink.

Eve jerked her head up, a violent, swift motion, shaking off the doze. Oh, it was just Charden, awake, finishing up his soup. Halfway through lifting the spoon to his mouth, the man noticed Eve was among the living again. Politely, he laid the thin silver utensil down in the bowl, and moved the bowl back onto the tray, beside an empty glass and a few crumbs of bread. Another moment passed as Charden pressed the napkin to his mouth, wiping away any flecks that remained of his meal.

Folding the napkin neatly, he laid it beside the bowl, and spoke, bowing his head lightly as he said,"Thank you, Miss... Eve, correct?"

Eve nodded her head in reply, already engrossed in her novel again. As soon as she had gotten her bearings, apparently the girl dove back into her literature. Quirking an eyebrow at the white fedora still shoved onto her head, Charden folded his hands in his lap, leaning back up against the wooden headboard.

"You're quite a cook for someone so small. Even at my age, I still have a difficult time preparing any meal other than instant ones, regrettably."

A long silence followed, and he frowned. Trying to elicit a response, he tried again. Charden wasn't good with children, but he thought maybe he could try and be ...friendly? for once, if only to eradicate the stiff silence filling the space in the room,"Most of the time, I just eat raw vegetables, if I can't go out. Do you like vegetables?"

He withheld a sigh as another terse silence invaded, the constant turn of the book's pages adding more tension. Charden felt obscenely awkward, until,"Sven taught me," finally, the quiet broken.

"Pardon?"

"Sven taught me how to cook,"each word sharp and clipped, Charden almost preferred the silence to her tone of voice.

"Give him my compliments as well, then,"he said, smoothing the sheets over his legs. At this moment he just happened to notice the scent of cigarettes heavy in the air. Looking down, he realised he was in different clothing from when he'd arrived.

Noticing the faint look of alarm on Charden's face, Eve calmly stated, "Your old clothes were too torn up. Tearju had to cut them off of you, they were dirty, and in the way,"

"Tearju?"

"A doctor, she's a friend of ours. You're wearing something of Sven's,"

"Mmm," Charden nodded. "What are you reading?"

"The Masque of the Red Death, currently. But it's a collection of short stories," She turned yet another page.

"Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood,"quoted Charden cryptically. A wry grin lit his face, for the first time since he'd awaken. A moment passed, and Eve's head snapped up to look at him.

"You know of Mr. Poe?"

Ah, now Charden was in his element. He could talk about this; he had something familiar to take a hold of and chew over in conversation. "He's not as occult as Lovecraft, but along with inventing the detective story, Edgar is known as the father of the modern horror story."

Well, he was certainly knowlegeable. One could draw from that short, but utterly overinformative and overeager sentence, that Eve had a bookworm on her hands, which was entirely okay with her. After all, it takes a bibliophile to know a bibliophile.